


A Knight Will Save the Day

by pooh_collector



Category: White Collar
Genre: Crack, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 22:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pooh_collector/pseuds/pooh_collector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the LJ WhiteCollarHC Heroes Fest for the prompt from Sinfulslasher requesting Peter in tights and on horseback.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Knight Will Save the Day

Neal, in his new persona of Don Juan snickered as he watched Diana walk past his perch on the Kissing Bridge down the path towards the back of the park leaving small puddles in her wake.  Her long, layered skirts, peasant blouse, leather shrug boots and braided hair were soaked through.  Some kid who spent his summers playing baseball had obviously been enjoying himself at the Drench a Wench booth. 

Neal knew he shouldn’t laugh at Diana’s misery, but really, it was Diana pimped out like a medieval barmaid, soaking wet.  How could he not find that humorous?  She glanced his way, her eyes murderous and he quickly schooled his features.  No way did he want to bring her wrath down upon himself.

She passed by quickly, obviously anxious to change out of her sopping costume, and Neal turned his attention back to his own somewhat humiliating but somewhat entertaining role.  A group of young women stepped onto the bridge and he approached them sweeping his cloak suavely away from his chest.

“Beautiful ladies” he greeted in his best Spanish accent.  “A kiss for a bit of coin?”  He flashed his most winning smile and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

The girls giggled shyly and then three of them pushed the fourth toward Neal.  She was maybe 20, dressed in a barbarian warrior costume, complete with leather wrist bands and a faux fur vest.  Her dark bangs were plastered against her forehead from the heat and humidity, but her hazel eyes shone with mischief.  Neal returned the look, swept her into his embrace and kissed her soundly on the cheek.  She laughed out loud from his antics, her breath warm and light against his face.  He released her gently and one of her friends handed him a dollar, the standard fee for a Kissing Bridge kiss.

The girls moved down the bridge toward the far end.  The barbarian girl looked back at him and he flashed his smile and winked.  She smiled back and then followed her friends off the wooden structure and down the path toward the open fields where most of the faire took place.

Neal’s vantage point on the bridge provided a perfect location to watch the comings and goings of all the staff and actors as they moved from their assigned positions at the faire back to their staging area.  The bridge was also located between the attractions and the bathrooms, so Neal was also able to observe all of the guests as well.

Their suspect was an eccentric Wall Streeter named Edward Grimes who left the city every weekend for Sterling Forest where he played the role of the Sheriff of Nottingham at the Renaissance Faire.  He was dispensing insider information and after several weeks of tapping his communications and following him around the city, Peter and Neal came to the conclusion that he had to be passing his information on somewhere, somehow here at the faire. 

Neal spotted Jones on the open field off in the distance.  He was hard to miss in his bright, primary-colored jester costume.  Who knew Jones could juggle?  But there he was performing to quite the crowd juggling with four bowling pins that matched the colors of his jerkin and tights.  Neal was sure he could hear the bells on the tips of Jones’ hat tinkling in time with his movements. 

Diana crossed Neal’s field of vision on her way back out into the Faire.  She was wearing a new set of overlaying skirts, a fresh white peasant blouse and a corset that accentuated her features… rather nicely. 

Neal hadn’t seen Peter for a couple of hours, but he knew his partner was out there somewhere in his green tunic and brown tights, a sword at his side and a bow slung across his back.  They had given Peter the role of Little John so that he would have a part in most of the scenes played out throughout the day with the Sheriff.

Neal’s mouth watered picturing Peter in those tights, his long legs defined so perfectly by the snug nylon.  It was a very pretty picture.

Eventually the day began to wind down and most of the patrons and the staff began making their way toward the tournament field.  When Neal arrived to take his assigned place at crowd control Jones and Diana were already there.  Diana was playing the tambourine with a small group of minstrels as they wandered the jousting area and Jones was plying his trade, this time with a set of brightly colored balls on the champion’s end of the field.

At 5:00 the procession arrived with the Queen, her consort, the lords and ladies in waiting, including the fair Maid Marion, the Sheriff and his deputies, and Robin of Loxley and his Merry Men.  Neal took his place among the other members of the court, as a visiting nobleman. 

The scene began and the Sheriff and Robin made their cases before the Queen.  Naturally, she decided that the matter should settled with a joust.  The Sheriff opted to champion himself and Robin bestowed the honor on his right hand man, Little John.

Pages came forward with greaves, plackerts, cuirasses, breastplates, rerebraces and vambraces and helms.  It took some doing, but the opponents were quickly armored and broadswords were hung at their sides. 

Neal had found Peter to be absolutely tantalizing in tights, but in amour he was… unbelievably arousing.  Neal surreptitiously pulled his crimson doublet down over the growing budge in his own tights.  He had always thought of Peter as a modern day knight, shining and valiant, defender of the helpless and savior of the day, but seeing Peter dressed like his medieval counterpart made Neal’s heart leap.  Despite the discomfort and weight of all the plating Peter looked completely at ease, as if it were all merely a second skin like the ‘classic’ suit that Peter had worn on both occasions that he had arrested Neal.  

As the horses were brought out onto the field, the Sheriff, their suspect, walked up to Peter and said something into his ear.  Neal couldn’t hear what was said from his vantage point, but the look on Peter’s face had completely changed.  He was no longer playing the role of Little John at the Renaissance Faire on a bright summer’s day; he was Peter Burke, Special Agent for the FBI once again.  

In spite of whatever exchange had taken place between them, Peter and the Sheriff mounted their horses and trotted out to the lists.  Neal needed to know what was going on, so he broke from the script, left the berfrois and jogged down the field toward where Peter sat astride his mount preparing to take his lance in hand.  

Neal took the horse’s reins away from the kid playing page and held the horse steady. “Peter, what’s going on?” 

“I think Grimes made me,” he replied gravely. 

“How?” 

Peter shrugged.  “I’m not sure.  But, I’m going to try to use it.  Push him into giving something away during the joust that we can use to bring him in.” 

Peter had been handed his shield and lance by one of the pages.  He slipped the lance into the lance rest on his breastplate and then nodded down to Neal that he was ready. 

Neal frowned up at him.  It seemed to him that the idea of holding an interrogation during a joust was a rather bad idea.  But he released the horse’s reins anyway.  “Be careful, please,” he implored. 

Peter nodded and then a moment later he was charging down the tilt, Grimes coming at him from the other side, his lance already raised and ready. 

Neal cringed.  The lances were designed to snap and split as soon as they made contact with an opponent’s shield, but if Grimes had really made Peter, then it was quite possible that he would be aiming for something much more breakable than Peter’s shield. 

Peter rode toward Grimes with this back straight, his body taut, shining as the sun hit his armor.  He raised his shield and brought his lance up in ample time to meet his opponent in the center of the tilt.

Peter’s own lance went wide, missing Grimes completely.  That was part of the script, but Neal wasn’t sure that Peter was still following the script, all things considered. 

The Sheriff’s lance swept up just as he reached Peter, moving its aim from Peter’s shield to his head.  Peter had little time to react, but he managed to pull his shield up just before the attaint found the shield’s rounded surface shattering the lance.  The force generated by both Peter’s last minute move and the blow knocked Peter back, nearly throwing him from his saddle.  But despite the added weight from the armor, Peter managed to pull himself up. 

Grimes reached the end of the tilt.  Neal glared up at him as he turned his horse to move back to his own side of the lists.  Despite his narrowed field of vision from the helm, Grimes must have seen Neal’s look.  He took his foot out of the stirrup and kicked out hitting Neal in the shoulder as he passed.  The unexpected move made Neal lose his balance and he landed on his butt on the grass.  

Peter had spun his own horse and was heading back when Neal landed on the ground.  He fumed, his own breath hot against his face inside his helm.  He galloped down the tilt, reaching Neal just as he was brushing the dirt off his doublet. 

“You alright?”  Peter asked anxiously. 

“Fine, but I think you’re right.  Grimes knows we’re on to him,” Neal confirmed. 

“Yeah, he made that abundantly clear when he tried to skewer me with his lance.” 

“Great, can we end this then?”  Neal wanted this over.  As much as he was enjoying the vision of his partner regaled as a medieval knight, this was Grimes’ realm and he definitely had the upper hand.

Peter shook his head.  “We’ve still got nothing and I want this guy.”  There was no way Peter was letting Grimes get away with knocking his partner over, not to mention the insider trading. 

Neal could hear the determination in Peter’s voice, even through the helm.  “Fine, just do me a favor, don’t get killed.  There is no way I’m going to be able to explain it to El if you end up with a lance through your chest.” 

 “Not gonna happen,” Peter replied resolutely as he hefted the new lance his page handed him.  Peter set his shield in place, eased up on his reins and waited for Grimes to spur his horse to action.  As soon as Grimes was on the move Peter kicked his horse in the flanks with a “Ha!” and then he was off, dirt flying back up into Neal’s mouth and eyes from Peter’s rapid departure.  

This time Peter held his lance straight up as he pounded down the tilt, not willing to give Grimes any clue as to his intentions.  Grimes appeared to have his own lance set high again, aiming to avoid Peter’s shield and strike his body.  

Just before they were to meet, Peter pulled his lance down, setting his shoulder to make the most of the strike and targeted Grimes’ outside shoulder.  Then he pushed forward against the saddle and stirrups, the armor squeaking against the leather, in an effort to strike Grimes first. 

The maneuver was a success.  Peter’s lance impacting Grimes’ shoulder hard causing his own lance to veer wildly, missing Peter by a mile and throwing Grimes further off balance.  He fell from his horse with a resounding thud as his armor connected with the earth beneath the tilt.  

Peter saw Grimes start to go down, so he pulled up sharply on the reins of his horse and brought the animal around in a tight circle.  He slid smoothly from the saddle and pulled his sword from his scabbard.  

Neal stood in awe as Peter unerringly played out the role of medieval knight.  Neal knew that Peter could ride, he had proven as much in Central Park that day almost two years ago, but Neal had no idea that Peter could do so carrying an extra 80 pounds or so of armor, hampered even further by its bulk and rusty hinges.  In all the years he had known the man, lusted after him, loved him, Neal had never been as attracted to Peter as he was in that moment watching him tower over Grimes as the other man attempted awkwardly to regain his feet. 

Neal couldn’t help the low whistle that came from his throat. 

Peter stood patiently, waiting for Grimes to rise.  “We know what you’ve been doing Grimes.  And, now we can add assaulting a federal agent to the list of charges.” Peter taunted.

“Fat chance,” Grimes replied breathing heavily through his faceplate.  “You’re a fill-in player at the Renaissance Faire.  I was following the script.  You can’t prove otherwise.” 

Peter flipped up his own faceplate to improve his field of vision as Grimes got to his feet and pulled out his own sword.  “You know now.” 

“Still your word against mine, Little John.”  Grimes slashed the sword to the left and the right in a clearly threatening manner. 

“Perhaps, but the evidence we’ve compiled on the insider trading is going to put you away for a very long time.”  Peter said hefting his sword, preparing for the attack he knew was coming. 

“You’ve got nothing!”  Grimes yelled as he lunged toward Peter swinging his sword before him.

Peter held up his own sword blocking the blow.  He was successful, but he didn’t anticipate the shocking pain moving up his arms from the reverberation of metal striking metal.  He faltered and stumbled back two steps.  Grimes, used to fighting with the large broadswords pressed his advantage.  The next blow landed on the rerebrace covering Peter’s upper right arm. 

Peter grunted from the pain of the impact and moved with the blow to save himself from some of the reverb.  “Oh, we have plenty.  We’ve been listening in on all your communications for weeks, following you.  We’ve even cloned your computer.  You’re going down Grimes.” 

“You bastard.  You think I’m stupid?  You think I would be dumb enough to put incriminating evidence in an email or leave a file where you could find it on my hard drive?”  Peter’s words were having the desired effect.  He pulled his sword up and swung it with as much force as he could muster.  Grimes managed to bring his sword around to block the blow, but this time he was the one who was thrown off balance, who had to step back.  

“Why do you think we’re here, Grimes?  You led us right _here_.”  Peter swung again attempting to knock Grimes to the ground and get him to reveal some critical piece of information. 

But this time Peter missed and overbalanced in the heavy armor.  Grimes saw his moment and shoved Peter hard throwing him into the dirt. 

Neal watched in dismay as Peter went down, his sword landing beside him in the dust, and Grimes began lifting his sword over his head to deliver the coup de grace. 

Neal tore off across the field yelling “Melee!” in the hopes of bringing the other performers onto the lists to create enough of a distraction to help Peter.  Grimes’ sword was already swinging down toward Peter’s meagerly protected torso when Neal threw all of his body weight into Grimes bowling him over. 

Grimes went down with Neal on top of him.  And despite the deviation from the script the other actors jumped right in swinging swords, knives, and any other prop they could get their hands on.  Peter spotted Jones out of the corner of his eye wielding one of his juggling pins and Diana not far off using her tambourine as a cudgel.  They were both making their way toward him and Neal. 

Grimes roared in anger and used his superior mass to switch positions with Neal, throwing Neal to the ground right under the tilt and pressing his metal-clad forearm against Neal’s slender, unprotected neck. 

From his position on the ground, Peter watched as Grimes pushed down with the full force of his body on his partner.  Peter struggled, attempting to regain his feet while Grimes choked Neal.  Peter watched in growing horror as Neal pushed vainly against Grimes’ breastplate. 

“Neal!”  Peter yelled as he finally managed to get to his knees. 

Neal heard Peter call out to him and managed to look in Peter’s direction, his eyes wide with fear, his face bright red from the exertion of attempting to fight off Grimes and simply breathe.  

Peter pulled off his helm, tossing it to the ground and then grabbed the broadsword lying at his side by the blade, fury fueling his movements.  He got to his feet swiftly and was next to Grimes and Neal in two massive strides. 

Neal’s hands had fallen back to his side, the effort of trying to fend off Grimes was too much, his air completely depleted when though the darkness impeding his vision he saw a shadow fall over him and the evil Sheriff. 

Peter’s only thought was to protect his partner as he shoved the pommel of the sword up into Grimes’ unguarded armpit, just above the edge of his breastplate.  Grimes screamed and despite the pain of the blade piercing his palms, Peter kept pushing.  Grimes scrambled back and Peter kept pushing.  Grimes tried to shove the solid metal ball away and Peter kept pushing.  Grimes tried to get to his feet and Peter kept pushing until Grimes was flush against the ground, pinned by the full force of Peter’s weight bearing down on the broadsword, and Peter kept pushing. 

When awareness of the world around Peter returned Jones was kneeling at his side calling his name and grabbing at the sword by the hilt trying to pull it up and away from Grimes’ withering body.  Peter threw the sword aside in disgust and turned away from Grimes and Jones.  Neal was all that mattered now.

Neal was still on the ground.  Peter could see his stocking-covered legs, but Diana’s body as she leaned over Neal, was blocking Peter’s view of his partner’s torso and head. 

Peter rounded Neal’s prone body and dropped down opposite Diana.  “Neal?” 

Neal’s breathing was rough, wheezing, but his eyes were open and alert. 

“Hey, you’re going to be okay.”  Peter said as much to reassure himself as Neal as he dropped his hand down onto his partner’s shoulder. 

Neal tried to nod, but the motion was cut short by a hacking cough that had to hurt.  Neal’s eyes slammed shut tight and tears leaked out their corners.  Peter scooted behind Neal’s head and lifted him up into his arms, supporting Neal against his chest hoping to ease the younger man’s breathing. 

It took a minute, but the coughing finally diminished leaving Neal breathing harshly and slack in Peter’s arms.  “I’ve got you buddy.”  Peter soothed. 

Neal turned his head to look Peter in the eyes, a wan smile on his face.  “My knight in shining armor.”


End file.
